Valerius ordered Zephor to save his strength and not waste his magic on battles when the dark war was still on the rise. The convoy had to cut through Quintaris. Eventually, they crested the stone ridge to behold the monolithic marvel that was the Cimmarian Mountain. Silhouetted against a sky eternally veiled in shadow. The Mountain rose like a blackened titan forged in the crucible of gods-fall. Its craggy peaks, as jagged as the claws of beasts, scraped against the ashen heavens. A colossal wound borne upon the tapestry of existence. Its sheer cliffs, scarred and scorched, showed the markings of a cataclysmic struggle that birthed the gateway to the infernal fathoms.
It took a few days to reach the darkened valleys surrounding the Mountain. Veins of dark-purple latticed the mountainside, dark spews like a festering wound. Shadows moved with a mind and momentum of their own, and even the wind whispered dirges of despair to those who dared to tread too close. Bloodcurdling sounds resounded through the ravines, echoes from the nether region clawing at the frayed edges of the world, yearning to spill forth into the mortal realm.
The convoy was almost halfway up the mountain. Gallagar walked beside Zephor. As he moved, the staff seemed to respond to him, trailing motes of arcane magic in its path, like stardust caught in the wake of a comet's passage. His eyes lingered on Gallagar, whose eyes often strayed to the Sunshard. The lifeless stone that seemed so dead in his chest.
"In time," Zephor said with a delicate smile.
Gallagar severed eye contact and adjusted his cloak to conceal the breastplate.
"We both know it shall never wake."
"But it did."
"Because the man meant to be in my stead woke it," he retorted.
"That stone harbors the spirit of the Great Mage," he regaled. "Worthiness is not measured by good deeds, but a good heart. And that is why yours bears the stone. The lotus grows in muddy waters, yet it emerges unblemished. Your worthiness is not diminished by the mud; it is enhanced by the resilience to rise."
Valerius cast a stiff glance over his shoulder as he marched ahead of them.
"It is why I know that the Sunshard shone when you held it. And it released a great light."
Gallagar's eyes sliced back at him.
Zephor smiled amusedly. "Omnis's spirit was released. Thalion was not chosen, he was just a carrier. You fail to realize that had he not pulled gem from stone. You would not have stolen it, presuming it was just an ordinary jewel worth a lofty sum. It was the only way it could find itself in your possession."
Zephor saw that his words struggled to settle in his thoughts.
Gallagar shrugged, thoughts clamoring in his mind.
"Your path is harder because your calling is higher. Gallagar, the Sunshard—"
Zephor lapsed into silence. All were alarmed because when Zephor tensed, dangers were imminent. Valerius yanked sword from scabbard, aware of every sense of the primordial power that emanated from the depths. However, Zephor wasn't looking above nor beyond, but below.
A skeletal hand burst from the ashen ground. Followed by a multitude thrusting out of dissolving pits. They clawed their way out, looming tall. Eyeless creatures with unraveled skin that dangled around them, baring elongated viper-like fangs. Bloodwraiths. They released an ear-splitting hiss like grinding stones, more than twenty, more than thirty even. Shouts of warning rippled through the convoy.
A wide-gaping fiend flashed at him. Sharp claws raked Valerius's face, and he roared, but found his footing. Elysia and Blackthorn fell into step with one another as they attacked back-to-back. These creatures were not like the mindless monsters they faced before, but they were smarter; the way they moved was tactical with thought behind it. Which made them even more dangerous. Their overwhelming numbers demanded the High Mage's intervention. A blast of light caught one of them in the side, blowing it into nothingness. Another bolt exploded against one's temple in a spray of molten sparks, and the creature howled in pain… and rage. It took a hold of the closest soldier until his flesh withered in its grip, decayed skin collapsing over his bones.
A high-pitched scream nearly cost Blackthorn his life when he faltered. A creature's blow had burst through steel and flesh to wound her. Valerius bristled, and a creature exploited his moment of weakness—it bull-rushed him to the ground, sending his sword spiraling out of reach. It shot towards him, but he captured its slavering jowls—seconds from tearing his throat out. Suddenly, a shower of blood and bone erupted over his face. It flopped down beside him to reveal Gallagar standing over him. He twirled both short swords with fluid grace, sheathing only one to outstretch his free hand to him.
"Now's not really a good time for a nap."
Valerius stared back at him; stoicism unable to mask his shock.
Gallagar fluttered his hand urgently. "You can write a poem about it later. For now, get up."
Valerius grabbed his forearm and rose to his feet. Gallagar broke away immediately to release an onslaught.
Unstoppable, Elysia took an ax of a fallen comrade to cleave the creature's skull, wrenching it out with a spurt of ichor. Blackthorn chopped his way through a deluge—a hissing screech. He whipped around, but a thrown dagger was already logged into its face. Blackthorn thanked Elysia with a terse nod. The convoy sloughed away at the fiends until none were left. There was never victory, not when the blood of so many of their own soaked the soil. There was once one hundred, then fifty, now only seventeen remained.
Valerius sported a fresh wound; three red lines tore across the right side of his face. Fortunately, it didn't take his eye. Gallagar gestured to him with a disappointed head shake.
"How is that fair?" he asked, looking around to include others. "Even with his face marred, he's still ruggedly handsome."
Valerius's eyes exploded with a look no-one recognized. Fear. Valerius threw himself forward, but he was already too late. A fiend launched itself at Gallagar, taking them both to the cusp of a fatal fall. Its jaw snapped at him, but Gallagar moved his head away in time. He whipped out his dagger and slashed its throat. The cliff succumbed, and the ground plunged away beneath them. Dread snatched his soul from his body, and it was as if he was watching his demise from an omnipresent perspective.
Nothing was able to stop Gallagar's free fall.
Suddenly, a pair of slender arms wrapped around his form, tugging him into a new trajectory. Zephor released a spate of guttural words before they were bubbled in a shimmering blue orb. The only thing that could protect them both, during an uncontrolled descent into a chasm. Already weakened, Zephor battled to persevere, but even he had his limits. Closer to the bottom, the shield shattered against a rock wall as they tumbled deeper like pebbles dropped into a crevasse. Both of them abandoned to the abyss. Gallagar landed with a bone-crunching thud as he rolled haphazardly. Bright burst of pain flared from the impact as he turned himself over onto his side sluggishly. He was well-acquainted with pain, but this one rebounded within him, breaching new thresholds. He lifted his head to see Zephor half-dead a few paces from him.
"Zeph," he whispered. Louder, he said. "Zeph."
If he couldn't walk, he would crawl as he dragged himself to his body. Eventually, he mustered strength to come upon his hands and knees to shuffle closer. He winced as he moved onto his knees so he could lift his torso onto his lap. Gallagar felt for his pulse but found it not, stirring a panic in Gallagar. He patted his cheek several times.
"Zephor, please, you must wake."
Zephor inhaled a jagged breath, his eyes still closed. Gallagar liberated a pent-up breath, relief like a balm to his wounds. Zephor peeled his eyes open. His cheeks were sunken, wilting gradually as life seeped from him like a hemorrhaging gut wound.
"If you perished, I think Valerius would take my head with his bare hands."
Zephor lifted himself upright. Gallagar stood up first so he could assist him onto his feet.
"Are you sure you're well?"
Zephor smiled weakly, submitting a small nod.
"Good."
Gallagar struck him, the sound of his slap echoing afar. "Don't you ever do that again." Anger gripped him. And in that moment, its hold felt unbreakable. "Because I would not do the same for you or for anyone else. No-one is worth that kind of sacrifice, least of all me."
Zephor dropped his hand from his cheek with a wan flicker of a smile. "My death would be made meaningless by your own."
Gallagar shook his head and delivered a quick clap on his shoulder. "I suppose I should thank you. No one has ever dived head-first off a mountain, and into a chasm for me."
"There is no need, my liege."
"Alright, old man," he said, his eyes scouring the wide rocky passage. "Let's find your stick and get out of here."
Zephor took one step and crumbled. Gallagar caught him and adjusted his body to hoist him onto his back. Gallagar silenced his own pain that was pulsing beneath his ribs as he forged forward. Shortly, he found Starweaver and scooped it off the ground with a pained groan.
"You can't carry us both."
"You have no idea how much pain I can take."
"Very caring." His voice, a quiet timbre. "For a being who claims to care not."
"Only a humble few merit an exception."
Gallagar made the bone-weary trudge through the chasm. So much time was lost. They had to return to the entrance of the Mountain at the end of the vales. For however long Verlax stood open, the rifts grew, and more abominations trickled out. Gallagar could not tell how much time had passed, but when the pair began their trek, the sun was at its zenith. Now the chasm's floor was soon to be in twilight shadow. Zephor eased off him, sensing his fatigue since he didn't have the strength to protest against it.
Gallagar dropped to his knees and fell on his back, eternal exhaustion clawing at every bit of him. Zephor knelt beside him, muttering incoherent words as he took Starweaver back into his possession. He placed his palm over his forehead—the burst of energy jolted him awake. His eyes snapped open with a gasp, then he realized what he was doing. Zephor's veins emerged, pulsing a bright, lurid blue like an incandescent river, channeling through him to his palm and into Gallagar—infusing him with vitality.
Gallagar watched as he appeared to age a hundred years in a matter of moments, his skin shriveling further. Gallagar knocked his arm away, stopping the fusion. Zephor slumped back, breathing raggedly, but was still alive and conscious. Gallagar rose again—out of nowhere, a blow sent him flying through the air, becoming all too solid when he smacked the ground, bouncing several times before he stopped.
Gaunt and feminine forms leaked out from the shadows. A black, oily substance, reminiscent of spiderwebs laced around their angular and naked figures. Seres-witches. A chorus of whispers swept up like a storm around them. Gallagar sprang to his feet and unsheathed his short swords. Zephor hefted Starweaver and hurled a burst of silver-sieved light magic that was met with a thrust of shadow.
Gallagar's scalp prickled, sharpened senses alarming him of danger. Two witches encroaching on his rear. Without looking back, he twirled his blades around and rammed them behind him, impaling both simultaneously. He ripped his swords free before they exploded into an ash pile of black behind him.
A bright beam blasted through a deluge. Zephor liberated a stifled cry before he dropped to one knee. Another stole Starweaver from his grasp and snapped it in two, then reduced its halves into splinters as a strangled scream struggled out of Zephor's lips. Gallagar rushed after him, but a bolt of black sent him crashing onto the ground, carving a deep trench in it. One of them materialized beside him and seized his throat to lift him off the ground, his feet dangling. The witch slammed him against the rock wall, then its soulless eyes found the Sunshard. It raised its talons at Gallagar, but an arc of silver light launched it away from him. Gallagar hit the ground, racing to Zephor. He scraped up his short swords and released an onslaught to reach him. Zephor laid diminished on the ground. He turned his face for a last glance at Gallagar, a single, glowing tear leaking from his eye.
"Zephor!"
He turned his face to the heavens. He breathed his last as the final vestiges of life relinquished their hold. Blue crystalline veins of magic spread across his petrifying form, his flesh flaking apart before his skin solidified into stone. Gallagar stumbled to a halt with glassy eyes. Every nerve in his body singed with something akin to pain, something all-consuming seared through him. The surrounding witches wavered as the chasm quaked, the ground rumbling beneath them all. Gallagar's chest heaved from the mounting pressure as a great cry wrung his core before dropping to his knees—the Sunshard ignited, releasing an exorable force, raising an arcane tempest that converged around him with a celestial intensity. Every fiend and witch in radius were obliterated into a bloody oblivion. A tremor of crimson fissures surged from Gallagar to crack through the high rock walls like tributaries.